


your empty gift-box eyes

by permutative



Category: NCT (Band), TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Enemies to Lovers, Light Pining, M/M, One-Sided Rivalry, Trainee Era, what happens when sm's former ace markly meets bighit ace choi yeonjun?! read to find out!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27444616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/permutative/pseuds/permutative
Summary: “You’re jealous of me,” Mark says. A statement, not a question, much more certain than he had sounded just moments before.“Jealous?As if.” Yeonjun laughs; it’s false and bitter in his throat. He raises his eyebrows. “What doyouhave that I don’t?”(or: second place is the first to lose, and yeonjun has a hard time dealing when former sm trainee mark lee joins bighit)
Relationships: Choi Yeonjun/Mark Lee
Comments: 39
Kudos: 190





	your empty gift-box eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [renaissances](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissances/gifts).



> feel bad, go to bed / wake up even worse, yeah / so sad in my head / feelin' like a [curse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_6fWYY6pRw)

Yeonjun hears about the new trainee before he sees him. Excited whispers trailing around, mentions of _Canada_ and _rapping_ and _did you hear he left SM?_

Rumors. They’re all just rumors. Yeonjun pays no heed to them, as much as they make him want to scoff. Being from Canada probably means that he lived there for three months and never got over it. Imagine if Yeonjun claimed he came from Los Angeles? The rapping isn’t special, either—every trainee at BigHit wants to be one, now, because of BTS.

Lastly, being ex-anything doesn’t mean squat shit here. Yeonjun would know that the most.

Still: his eyes land on the new boy as soon as he steps inside the practice room. Only a few trainees have arrived here early—thirty minutes before practice begins in earnest—but Yeonjun has always made a habit of using all the time that he can.

“Hi,” the new boy says, greeting him with an open smile. “I’m Mark. Mark Lee.”

A greeting like a true Canadian, Yeonjun thinks. He wonders, idly, what Mark would think if he introduced himself as _Daniel Choi._ It’s all bullshit, regardless.

“Choi Yeonjun.” He returns the smile, turning the charm up to one-hundred percent and putting his arm around Mark’s shoulder. “You see those rankings there?” With his other arm, he points at the papers attached to the far wall, the rigid ordering of trainees who excel at rap, dance, and singing. At the top of each ranking lies Yeonjun’s name.

“Yeah, I caught that,” Mark replies. His head tilts as he observes the list again. Yeonjun tracks the movements of Mark’s eyes, slow and methodical. “You’re the ace, huh?”

Yeonjun shrugs, noncommittal, then removes his arm and steps away from Mark. “Just making sure you know how things work, over here.”

“Alright,” Mark agrees, easy-going enough. Yeonjun decides he doesn’t like him, not one bit.

—

Yeonjun likes to think of himself as a nice guy, so he doesn’t say anything to Mark outright. He doesn’t need to, anyhow; the other trainees fill in the gaps for him, quick to gossip and insult. The difference between an unknown trainee and a disliked trainee lies in whether Yeonjun choses to redirect the conversation: whenever they bring up Soobin, commenting on his gangly limbs and fumbling words, Yeonjun will smile and quickly change the subject, whereas if he hears Mark’s name thrown about, Yeonjun remains silent.

What had started out as instinctive dislike morphs into something uglier over time, though. Yeonjun should’ve guessed that ostracizing Mark would lead to Soobin taking him in, adopting him into his little group of misfits who place too low on trainee evaluations to hang around Yeonjun’s circle.

He pretends not to watch as Soobin and Mark head out to the convenience store together, but his skin itches with an unnamable prickliness all the same. He heads outside by himself, alone the way he usually does when he’s in a bad mood.

The other trainees aren’t his friends; they don’t get the mess and pain of seeing him when he’s less than one-hundred percent. Yeonjun knows that he isn’t _here_ for friends, that comradery can be forged or feigned after he’s chosen to debut, but it still stings somewhere deep down.

Yeonjun’s still in the shadows when Mark and Soobin walk back, their faces illuminated by the streetlights. Two smiling-shy boys, too sincere to ever be successful, laughing as the night falls. He takes note of how Soobin towers over Mark and scoffs, realizing exactly what that pointed, itchy feeling had been.

It’s something that Yeonjun has long grown accustomed to but never quite acknowledged: envy.

—

The next month, Mark Lee’s name rests at the top of the rap evaluations.

Yeonjun stares at the #2 next to his name, face blank, overwhelmingly aware of the others looking at him. They’re like a pit of vipers ready to strike.

When he had reigned over them, he hadn’t minded it much, but he’s experienced enough to realize that any show of weakness will get preyed upon immediately.

Second place, he knows, is the first to lose.

—

Yeonjun keeps his head down and works harder. That’s the only way he knows how to deal with the situation when his pride hurts like this. He spends hours awake when the others are sleeping, writing verses and scratching every other word out when it doesn’t come out perfect.

He had seen Mark’s evaluation. Mark Lee looked pasty white and nervous before he opened his mouth and had ended up fumbling his lines twice. Despite his mistakes, Yeonjun had recognized a flow, a musicality within Mark’s punctuated rhythm. It was something that Yeonjun knew mattered more than flawlessness.

See, perfection could be made and shaped and brought out of a trainee like a magnet collecting iron particles from sand. But charisma? But Mark Lee’s unrepentant boy-next-door charm?

That was born out of something else entirely.

—

“Why do you think he left SM?”

That’s the most common question that plagues Mark Lee, even more than the discussions regarding his name—“I was born in Canada, man”— or how his lyrics are so good—“haha, I don’t know, I always wanted to be a writer when I was younger.”

“You think they kicked him out?” another boy adds on, eyeing Yeonjun curiously.

Yeonjun tenses. He hadn’t been a trainee at Cube for long—really, it’s been long enough that no one associates him with it all that much—but he still gets a little wary over it. He had heard these trainees say the same things about him, once. Instead of lashing out, he had shut them up with his rankings. After all, sometimes a charming smile could cause more damage than any outward antipathy.

“There’s no way,” another one butts in. “Have you heard of SM Rookies? Mark used to dance for the fucking five year olds on Disney Channel.”

All of them stayed silent for a moment. With a group as big as BTS yet a legacy of financial failures, BigHit emphasized the secrecy of being a trainee. There wouldn’t be any showing off of predebut talent. Not until they earned their spot, not until they had met those astronomical expectations that others had set in stone for them.

“He used to be their ace rookie,” the boy continues. How familiar those words feel to Yeonjun, how different the context is. “One of my classmates was talking about it. He must’ve gotten into trouble…”

Yeonjun’s had enough of this conversation, regardless of how much animosity he might have towards Mark Lee or his own curiosity about the trainee’s past. So, with a slight smile, he changes the topic and tunes out their chatter.

—

If there’s one thing Yeonjun can say to compliment Mark Lee, it’s that he isn’t stupid. Yeonjun can sense the quick-eyed slyness behind the way he projects earnestness like a second skin. So, of course, Mark catches on to the fact that Yeonjun doesn’t like him, and stays out of his way for the most part.

There’s only one problem in this situation: Yeonjun and Soobin are friends. Not as close as Yeonjun would like, of course, but part of that stems from self-preservation on Yeonjun’s side. Another part of it lies in the fact that Soobin seems to enjoy collecting all the kids who lie strictly outside of Yeonjun’s sphere of influence—Kai with his shy-sweet smile, one of the youngest, and Taehyun, eagle-eyed and too blunt for his own good.

It’s becoming more and more difficult to corner Soobin on his own to hang out the way they usually do when Yeonjun needs a break. One day Yeonjun loses any hope at subtlety—he despises it, hates not being able to save face—and pointedly asks Soobin if they can head to the convenience store out alone.

Soobin’s quieter than usual when they walk outside together. Yeonjun’s used to being the more talkative one, but usually he’ll leave gaps in the conversation for Soobin to insert his own—often much more thoughtful—comments.

Yeonjun stops them right as they’re about to enter the store, palm to shoulder. He’s aware that they’re blocking the doorway, but it’s 11 PM on a Tuesday night. No one’s around, and he can’t bring himself to care.

“What’s up?” Yeonjun demands. It comes out overly aggressive.

Soobin gives him an unreadable, almost troubled look.

Yeonjun softens, smoothing his hand over Soobin’s shoulder: the gentlest touch he’ll ever gift anyone. “Is there something wrong, Soobin-ah?” he asks again.

“What’s your problem with Mark-hyung?” Soobin’s biting down on his plush lower lip, earnestly confused and worried, and Yeonjun understands, now.

That’s one of the many things he appreciates about Soobin—most of the time, they have this invisible understanding that passes between them, no need for much words or overthinking.

It’s the exact same reason why Yeonjun knows he has no shot at being with Soobin, not in that way. But they’re friends, and at least that’s close enough.

Yeonjun swallows. “I —” he breaks off. “We just don’t get along, I guess.”

Soobin frowns. “Yeonjun-hyung, Mark’s really nice when you get to know him,” he says. His eyes glow bright with the enthusiasm of new friendship; it’s just confirmation that Soobin has added Mark to his protective circle. Mark Lee of all people, SM’s former ace, not anyone who warrants Soobin’s guarding, really. “It would probably be good if you guys were friends.”

Yeonjun looks down at the ground and nods silently, not willing to commit to it vocally. It’s moments like these that make him think that Soobin is special, that make him think that all of the fans will love Soobin when he debuts.

By the time Yeonjun looks back up, he’s wiped any trace of discontent from his face. The smile he wears feels natural enough as he looks at Soobin.

“Why don’t we buy the snacks now?” he suggests. They don’t mention Mark for the rest of the night.

—

The next day, however, Mark corners him all by himself. It’s Yeonjun’s fault, partly—he stayed late after practice, the way he usually does to perfect his dancing, and hadn’t noticed a certain trainee remaining along with him.

Yeonjun ignores Mark’s presence, continuing to dance, but he can’t avoid it any longer once the music finally stops. From the practice room mirror, Yeonjun can see Mark standing just steps behind him, expression resolute.

Yeonjun doesn’t bother turning around, just continues to observe the two of them through the mirror; he’s practiced patience for so long that it feels second nature to him.

It takes a while, but Mark finally forms the words: “What’s wrong with you?” he asks.

It’s much less of an eloquent indictment than Yeonjun had expected, but it still cuts—a shallow little thing that he refuses to let bleed.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Yeonjun replies. He looks down at his feet. Even Mark’s stare through the reflection feels like too much to bear, for some reason. He can deal with a hundred glares from a hundred trainees but he can’t tolerate Mark’s wide-eyed curiosity.

“You hate me,” Mark continues. “But why?” The questioning lilt to his tone is enough to make Yeonjun turn back around, frustrated.

“Where’d you learn how to be so honest?” Yeonjun marvels, tilting his head as he mockingly imitates Mark’s inquisitive expression. “Surely they don’t teach you that at SM.”

Mark brushes it off, clearly used to such jabs. “Maybe that’s why I left.” He pauses, eyes flitting across Yeonjun’s face. “But still, I don’t…”

Yeonjun looks on as Mark allows every microexpression to be displayed on his face, any minute change in thought broadcasted clearly. He hates himself, just a little, for succumbing to the intentional charm of it.

It’s clear exactly when Mark realizes: his eyebrows raise in realization, his shining eyes set into something gentle.

“You’re jealous of me,” Mark says. A statement, not a question, much more certain than he had sounded just moments before.

“ _Jealous?_ As if.” Yeonjun laughs; it’s false and bitter in his throat. He raises his eyebrows. “What do _you_ have that I don’t?”

Yeonjun won’t allow his pride to be trampled over like this, makes his best attempt at counteracting Mark’s calm words.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Yeonjun tells him, and this, at least, feels true enough. He straightens out his spine, tries to convey with his posture what he can’t with his words.

“I could say the same about you,” Mark returns, still loose and casual. Much more at ease with this than Yeonjun could ever be. “Just—don’t hate me.”

“Never said I did.” Yeonjun shrugs mechanically, as much control behind the action as he channels into a dance move. An attempt at the nonchalance he's never had. “You aren’t worth my hatred.”

It occurs to Yeonjun, then, that he doesn’t have to remain here. That he doesn’t have to tolerate Mark’s attempt at bridging the gap between the two of them.

As he shoves past Mark to exit the practice room, deliberately rough, his hands are clenched into fists.

—

Yeonjun tries to channel his energy into something productive, feeling more passionate than he’s ever been as he writes about how _angry_ he feels. He focuses on improving the lyrics, on taking that flame burning within and using it to incinerate the competition.

Mark doesn’t try to talk to him again. It lulls him into a false sense of security, for a while at least, until the monthly evaluations come around again and Yeonjun’s name doesn’t budge from that #2 slot under the rap category.

Again, he’s surpassed only by Mark Lee.

The other trainees whisper to themselves, speculation and surprise that Yeonjun doesn’t want to hear. He hears no words of encouragement from them; the trainees might admire him, but they enjoy watching his fall just as much.

—

“You did well today,” Mark tells him later, the first words to break his silent treatment.

They’re brushing their teeth together over the sink—or, rather, Yeonjun had been washing up, and Mark nudged his way beside him with sharp, pointy elbows. Yeonjun’s eyes remain resolutely on the porcelain edges. He still remembers the practice room confrontation vividly; he’s afraid of Mark’s reflection side by side with his own.

Yeonjun is glad for the toothbrush in his mouth; it prevents him from speaking too rashly. Calm, controlled, he leans forward and spits out the toothpaste into the sink. He takes his sweet time washing out his mouth and thinking of how to respond. He’s got that combined revulsion and validation welling up in him, wanting to hide Mark’s praise within him like something precious, something shameful.

After Yeonjun straightens, Mark leans forward and washes out his mouth as well. Neither of them move from the sink.

“Those trainees,” Mark begins. “Why do you hang out with them?”

Yeonjun gives into his inhibitions, looks at the two of them standing next to each other in the mirror. Mark’s shorter than him, but Yeonjun feels smaller. They’d look good together, maybe, if they debuted in the same team. Yeonjun allows the image to blossom for just a moment—the idea of Mark and him dancing under the same bright lights—then firmly shoves it aside before it can sink its roots into his mind.

At least responding feels easier this time. Yeonjun smirks. “Why, are you jealous or something?”

“They aren’t your friends,” Mark continues.

Yeonjun shrugs. The truth doesn’t sting anymore, not like it had before. “Never said they were.”

“The things they say—they’re like vultures,” Mark says, looking closer to real anger than Yeonjun has ever seen him before. “Just waiting for you to fail.”

“No need to worry then, right?” And this, this is laced with poorly put-upon teenage bravado, because if there’s one thing Yeonjun has, it’s his pride. “I won’t fail.”

Something in Mark’s expression shifts, no longer angry anymore. Instead, he just seems disappointed. “I don’t get it,” he says softly. “They clearly don’t like you, and we both know you’d choose Soobin over them in a heart—”

“They aren’t the ones who need to like me,” Yeonjun interrupts smoothly. He wonders why Mark, of all people, is the one boy who can sink his teeth into the weakest parts of him and bite down where it hurts the most. “Debuting isn’t about this shit.”

“What, were you friends with those Disney Channel kids you trained with?” Yeonjun continues, watching that anger bloom across Mark’s face again, a beautiful and wretched thing. He feels reckless, giddy, almost. He wants more. “Are you sure they haven’t forgotten your name already?”

Mark refuses to offer Yeonjun the satisfaction of a visible reaction, but he can’t hide the way his jaw clenches with quiet fury.

And Yeonjun knows—as soon as the words leave his mouth—that he’s taken it too far, whatever _too far_ might mean for someone like Choi Yeonjun. That’s the problem, isn’t it. When he spends so long trying to push his own limits, stretching himself thin to achieve the impossible, he forgets about the boundaries of what other people can tolerate.

“Forget it,” Mark states calmly, following it up with the ugliest thing of all: “No one who knows you, likes you.”

Yeonjun’s nails dig into the skin of his palm, fingers tensed so tightly that he thinks he might bleed. The truth shouldn’t sting anymore, he reminds himself.

“You’re pathetic,” Yeonjun returns, a beat too late.

Mark offers him a grim smile, elbowing him in the side as he leaves. “Maybe you should look yourself in the mirror first.”

—

Yeonjun doesn’t like what he sees, either.

—

The next day, Yeonjun eats lunch with Soobin’s circle. He deliberately seats himself away from Soobin and Mark and ends up next to Taehyun, who stares at him with open shock.

“What are you looking at, kid?” Yeonjun grumbles.

Taehyun continues holding his eye contact, shameless, then begins to smile. “Nothing, Yeonjun-hyung,” he says, happily digging into his food.

This time, when Mark makes eye contact with Yeonjun, he doesn’t avoid it. Instead, he returns Mark’s stare steadily. No longer afraid of hiding, he supposes.

It’s about as much of an apology as Yeonjun will give Mark, for now: admitting that he had always been right.

—

Mark takes that victory as a signal to begin talking to him more, for some unfathomable reason. He must have some sense of self-preservation, for he doesn’t try to converse with Yeonjun often, but it’s frequent enough that Yeonjun starts to expect Mark’s little comments during practices, the incessant _nice rap, Yeonjun-ah_ and _show me how to do this move_ and complaints about singing practice.

Yeonjun ignores it all, of course, just lets the sound of Mark’s voice wash over him like water flowing in a river. Overtime, the relentless force of it wears him down, his rocky exterior smoothed down with time.

—

If Mark brings out the ugliest parts of Yeonjun, some side of him he’d rather not face, then Soobin invites the exact opposite. It isn’t that Soobin is special—because he isn’t, because he can’t be, because he’s just like any other trainee, if you take away the height and the kindness—but Yeonjun, somehow, makes him so.

Again: there’s a reason why they aren’t close. A reason that Mark had been teasing at like a moth to flame, unafraid of burning up. Maybe, if Yeonjun stopped seeing magic in an awkward teenage boy, stopped analyzing the simple lines of his actions like it was goddamn Shakespeare, he wouldn’t lash out at Mark’s guts so much.

He can’t find one without the other, it seems. When he wants to hang out with Soobin, Mark’s always laughing alongside them. His supposed hatred is backed by some undercurrent of ambiguous passion towards Mark that he can’t quite control.

What was that cliche, again, about there being a thin line between love and hate? Yeonjun’s never been good at distinguishing those boundaries, regardless, too focused on pushing past his own to forge something new out of himself.

—

Here’s the thing: Yeonjun wouldn't be number one without striving towards change, without trying to improve himself day by day. So he takes Mark’s words and lets them burn in his heart, a steady fire instead of a raging inferno, and he never forgets. He allows himself to take in Soobin’s smile for more than just a split second, indulges in Taehyun’s teasing.

And slowly and surely, over rushed lunch breaks and chaotic snack runs, the memory itself becomes less painful to bear.

—

The next time they head back from the convenience store, Mark slips in between Soobin and him, arms thrown around both of their shoulders. Yeonjun doesn’t bother shoving away the touch, too busy laughing at something dumb Soobin had said.

And, well, if Mark looks happier as they return to the dorms, his face practically glowing with delight—

—Yeonjun pretends he doesn’t see it.

—

“I know you like him,” Mark says. Doesn’t say the name, because it couldn’t possibly be anyone else.

Yeonjun supposes it’s out of the blue, but really, it’s been a long time coming. He’s seen the way Mark observes him whenever they’re around Soobin: Yeonjun’s dual performance of having to hide from the person who knows him the most and the person he loves the most.

“So what.” Yeonjun eyes him warily. The urge to punch Mark’s stupidly guileless face still flares up from time to time, but lately he’s been wanting to touch Mark in a gentle way, too. As if he could reform every push and shove he’d given into something soft, something tender.

At least Mark hasn’t caught on to this new development. Yeonjun wouldn’t believe himself, either, if he wasn’t caged within his own dumb teenage body.

“So what,” Mark echoes, raising his eyebrows. Not for the first time, Yeonjun marvels at the perfect, sloped curve of them. “Nothing, really.”

—

One night, Yeonjun and Mark are the last ones remaining in the practice room. It should set Yeonjun on edge—indeed, Yeonjun vividly remembers the last time things had gone awry with the two of them together here—but this time they’re actually practicing and helping each other improve. The choreography they’ve learned recently is a different style than normal, simpler yet more precise, and it’s a challenge to make sure that they’re exactly in sync.

“Wait,” Mark pants out, when Yeonjun moves to replay the music again. “Can we take a break for a minute?”

They sit side by side, backs to the practice room mirror, air punctuated by the sounds of them gulping down water eagerly. Yeonjun is the first to break the silence, figuring it’s as good a time as ever to ask the one question he’s always been curious about:

“Why’d SM drop you?” he asks.

Mark sighs, tilting his head back so that it rests against the mirrored wall behind him. Yeonjun stares at the point where Mark’s two heads meet, like something coming out of a kaleidoscope, then blinks the image away.

“That’s not how it works at SM, man,” Mark replies, eyes closed. “You don’t—” here, he makes air quotations with his finger— “get dropped.”

“As long as you keep training,” Mark continues, opening his eyes to stare up at the ceiling blankly, “they’ll debut you eventually. It’s just a waiting game.”

“Why’d you leave, then?” Yeonjun says. “You were already a member of Rookies—”

“I just—I wanted to see what else was there,” Mark interrupts, shifting his legs to the right just a little so that they knock against Yeonjun’s. “Some of my trainee-hyungs have been there for six, seven years. I don’t know if I could do that.”

Yeonjun leans into the touch. They’re both sticky with sweat, with the hard work they wear proudly on their skin.

“Do you miss them?” Yeonjun wondered about this, too. Had wracked his mind one night, wondering who he’d miss, who could possibly miss him. The list he made had been short, just two names long.

Mark remains quiet for longer than a couple of moments. It takes a while for Yeonjun to glance over, but when he does, he immediately spots the silent tears running down Mark’s face, the way it mixes with the sweat on his cheeks in a shiny mess. All of the trainees have tried to master the art of crying without a sound, but Mark might be the most successful that Yeonjun has seen so far.

The sight irritates Yeonjun so deeply that he reaches out and wipes the tears away for him.

“Of course you miss them,” Yeonjun mumbles under his breath. “You’re fucking _Mark Lee_.”

Mark laughs at that. Yeonjun’s fingers are still resting on the edge of Mark’s jaw, gentle and affectionate instead of his usual roughness. He realizes that mistake too late, Mark’s laughter dying out hastily.

Yeonjun removes his hand hastily. “Um,” he says.

Mark clears his throat, his eyes darting around the room. “Maybe we should go,” he suggests, voice quieter than normal. “It’s getting late.”

“You go first,” Yeonjun replies, mostly because he can still feel his face burning up with mortification. He knows that Mark had guessed correctly about Soobin, but this— _this_ is something else entirely.

“Okay.” He watches as Mark clambers to his feet, ready to leave the practice room.

“Hey, Mark,” Yeonjun says, suddenly, just as he’s about to close the door behind him.

Mark stops and pauses, expectant. Waiting for what Yeonjun will say, ready to throw it right back at him. It isn’t an obvious form of caring, but it’s the one that matters the most.

Yeonjun takes a deep breath. “Can you show me how you write your raps sometime?”

**Author's Note:**

> fic notes:  
> 1\. this was originally a [800w prompt fill](https://0323.dreamwidth.org/1387.html?thread=3435#cmt3435) titled "the hardwork vs talent narrative" for [this comment ficathon](https://0323.dreamwidth.org/1387.html) in response to eri's prompt for "(one sided?) rivals to lovers" yeonmark... not sure how it turned into this [holds head in hands]  
> 2\. this is set ambiguously in 2016/2017, mark left sm right before nct debuted i guess [?] whatever time isn't real & we all know teenagers are horrible & passionate about each other  
> 3\. i'm obsessed with [yeonjun's past tradition](https://youtu.be/e-QrkovZBEg?t=679) of introducing himself to new trainees by telling them that he's #1 at everything... why is he like this.  
> 4\. the title is a slight mangling of "너의 비워진 그 선물상자 같은 눈빛" from blue hour translated into english  
> 5\. tysm to rose, for being the most brilliant beta and catching every time i contradicted myself, and the rest of my txt tlist for being so welcoming & encouraging T___T [especially eri for prompting this in the first place!]
> 
> in my humble opinion sm's ace and bighit's ace should touch mouths... please come scream w/ me about the nctxt agenda on [twt](http://twitter.com/storyboxed) \+ [cc](http://curiouscat.qa/axiomatic) / here's a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0UIVMA4sFcx9TVsIyPG5NB?si=bWmoSGpmTROH_UbiROt6-A) / comments & kudos are appreciated <3


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